So We Beat On
by SiennaSky
Summary: It's probably the hardest phone call he's ever had to endure, and he shocks himself with the way he grabs a hold of the band-aid and yanks. He doesn't want to pretend with her. Honesty is the one thing he and Lucy and Rufus have all agreed upon ever since being stranded in the godforsaken woods of the 1700s, and it's the one thing he can offer her in this situation. 2x06 spoilers.


So I don't know what this is, but I did a thing. While I was once a fairly prolific fic writer, I have pretty much abandoned fandom life - save for a momentary lapse of sanity in 2012. But this show has hooked me. I've been lurking around the fandom since Timeless started airing, and I never intended to become an active participant, but here I am. You guys! This show! I mean...flawed but likeable characters? Check. Representation? Check. Consistently good writing? Check. And on a network show! Be still, my beating heart.

So thank you all for being such an extraordinarily positive and respectful fandom. And thank you to the fic writers for producing such wonderful stories that have helped us to survive hiatuses and angsty plot twists.

Fair warning: I'm quite rusty at this point. This is really just a collection of moments and scenes I had in my head (apparently I'm _really_ indignant on Lucy's behalf!) and attempted to weave together so they might resemble something cohesive. I kind of think it might be a mess, but I feel like it's becoming more and more redundant with every second that passes, so here it is.

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing related to Timeless. If I did, there would be no need for a #RenewTimeless campaign.

* * *

 **So We Beat On**

He shouldn't be surprised when she pushes him toward Jessica.

If he's learned nothing else about Lucy Preston, he's certainly discovered that she's one of the kindest and most selfless people he's ever met.

If he's being totally honest with himself, it's probably part of the reason he hesitated for so long to acknowledge his feelings for her. He's the rage-filled screw-up with a shitty past and a short fuse. She's the sheltered overachiever with the overbearing mother and a yearning for approval. A soldier and a professor hardly seem like a match made in heaven, yet their mismatched shapes seem to lock together - like jigsaw pieces - and they fit.

But he and Jess? Well, they've _always_ made sense: rough around the edges, reckless and impulsive, desperate to abandon bad for better. Cut from the same cloth.

Also, you know. Married.

So doesn't he owe it to her to stay with her? To fight for _them_? To be the husband he always should have been for her? Shouldn't he make things right? It's what he does.

Still, his sturdy sense of duty doesn't lessen the sting of telling Lucy.

It's probably the hardest phone call he's ever had to endure, and he shocks himself with the way he grabs a hold of the band-aid and yanks. He doesn't want to pretend with her. Honesty is the one thing he and Lucy and Rufus have all agreed upon ever since being stranded in the godforsaken woods of the 1700s, and it's the one thing he can offer her in this impossible situation.

"Lucy, Jessica's alive."

Her response is all class: encouraging and accepting at the same time, and he thinks (not for the first - or second - time) that he definitely doesn't deserve her. Her goodness is staggering and effortless in its execution. His goodness is newfound and almost entirely borne from her influence. She's bossy and clumsy and awkward, but she's so unbelievably _good_ and _gracious_ that he can't help but choke up just the tiniest bit.

"Lucy, I'm so sorry." ( _I don't want to have to make this choice.)_

"Don't be." ( _I'll make it for you.)_

He's lost in thoughts of her - in a minefield of what-ifs and how-tos and why-nows - so much so that he almost misses the tentative knock when Jessica finally arrives at his motel.

"You're actually here," Jessica remarks flatly, the arch of her eyebrows revealing her genuine surprise when he opens the door.

"I told you I would be," Wyatt replies, confused by the certainty of her doubt in him.

"You've told me a lot of things," she comments without emotion. "Let's talk."

Her stride is confident as she steps into the room, and he takes the opportunity to survey her from head-to-toe. It crosses his mind that she might turn to see him drinking her in like some sort of sex-starved creep, but he doesn't care. He needs to look at her, _really_ look at her, to process her reappearance.

She's petite, of course. That hasn't changed. And she's still athletic. Jess had been an athlete in high school, and her figure is still as trim and as strong as ever. Her hair is shorter now (why had he felt the need to mention such a trivial detail to Lucy?) and her dark eyes are flinty with with impatience and irritation as she returns his stare.

It isn't until he hears the crumple of paper that he notices the large envelope she is clutching in her hands. Her jaw is set and she lifts her chin with an air of determination and defiance, but her nervousness flickers in her eyes.

Well, this can't be good.

* * *

Wyatt realizes almost as soon as they arrive at the bunker that maybe he should have thought this one through. Had this been a mission, he would have had Lucy to offer a perspective grounded in calculated logic, and he would have had Rufus to offer a perspective grounded in...well, a healthy dose of "what the hell?!" He's fairly certain their collaborative solution would _not_ have resulted in the massive security breach of a formerly dead spouse in a secret government bunker. _The reckless hothead strikes again. Shit._

He's not surprised by the cacophonous shatter of Jessica's glass when the Lifeboat finally bursts into sight, but he realizes now that there's no turning back. That he's just made a massive decision for the entire team, _without_ the entire team. And he's going to have to deal with the repercussions.

He's horrified when Lucy emerges from the Lifeboat, her hand clenched around her arm, her teeth clenched against the pain. But he's also aware of another set of distantly familiar eyes fixed on his back, and it finally occurs to him that his relationship with Lucy has been irreparably changed - even beyond the _possibilities_ of their blossoming romance. They've always been a physical pair: the lending of a hand, the brushing of arms, the crushing of hugs...the buckling of her seatbelt. So now as she stands above him looking wounded in ways that far surpass the damage to her bleeding arm, he's uncertain of his next move.

He falters for a fraction of a second, unsure of whether his instinct to rush to Lucy's aid will clue Jess in as to the not-quite-platonic nature of his feelings. Then he recalls the feel of a frail and heartbroken Lucy crumbling beneath his comforting hands, and he winces at the memory of his own words: "You haven't lost me."

He sways slightly before surging forward and then stops short as Flynn's tall frame fills the space at Lucy's side. Wyatt schools his features into careful blankness, but he knows his momentary wince won't be missed by Lucy, just as her look of betrayal, the one that flickers across her features at the sight of Jessica, isn't missed by him.

Flynn guides her carefully down the stairs, brushing by Wyatt with barely a hint of acknowledgement, and he follows their path with his eyes as they pass an enchanted looking Jessica.

He's not sure how much time passes. Flynn and Lucy have long since exited the room, but the image of Lucy's pain-tightened lips, her white-knuckled grip on the bloody wound, is rattling loudly in his mind.

He starts when Jessica speaks, just inches away from him.

"This is real," she whispers, still not quite trusting her eyes.

Wyatt glances down at her and just smiles.

* * *

Lucy is mad.

It's really quite simple. Except that it isn't.

Sure, her feelings are simple. They are what they are. She's mad. She has no doubt about that. And she has no doubt about the reasons.

The circumstances are where things start to get a bit murky. And she's fairly certain that, even if she could leave the small (and rapidly shrinking) confines of the bunker, she'd be unlikely to find anyone in the world who could shed any light on the appropriate steps to take in a situation such as this. She's mad, but can she be? _Should_ she be? She doesn't quite know how to be the _good_ person without becoming a _broken_ person in this situation.

So for now, she just accepts that she's mad.

When your mother reveals that she's a part of a secret, power-hungry, murderous cult; when she kidnaps and holds you hostage for six weeks in an effort to brainwash you; when the man you've fallen for, the man you think may have fallen for you, the man you just spent the night with, brings the formerly dead love-of-his-life to live with you, well... _mad_ seems to be a reasonable response. She's mad at the universe. Mad at Rittenhouse. Mad at her mother. Mad at herself.

She's not mad at _him._ Much. Maybe.

Okay, maybe she's mad at him a little bit. Which just makes her even more mad at herself. Because what kind of person gets mad when someone they love finally gets something they've longed for, prayed for, and ached for? What kind of a person gets mad when someone they love finally gets something that has the capacity to heal all pain and renew all hope? What kind of person does that?

Lucy doesn't want to be that kind of person. She wants him to be happy. She wants to be the person that does what it takes to help him be happy. She doesn't want to be the source of any added drama or conflict in his life.

It's why she so quickly schooled her features from sagging disappointment to forthright solemnity upon seeing Jessica for the first time. She's pretty proud of it actually. Because having your whole world ripped from your grasp before being kidnapped and betrayed by your mother, and then having to focus on escaping death by hanging (thanks, Mom) while also trying to ignore the fact that your new boyfriend has left to rekindle his marriage...well, she thinks it's probably more than the human psyche was built to withstand. And that's not even taking into account the infected stab wound she brought home as a souvenir.

She's not exactly sure what she wanted to return to when she stepped off that Lifeboat.

But she thinks that somewhere, deep down, she hoped that Wyatt would meet up with Jessica and change his mind. That he would see her and kiss her and wish her well.

If she's being totally honest with herself - and that's not something that's been particularly easy to do lately - Lucy thinks she wanted him to choose her. She wanted him to choose her the way no one else had in a _really_ long time. She doesn't like that she wants this. She doesn't want to be that person.

So she's not.

She's in the makeshift infirmary with an unsuspecting doctor when Agent Christopher stops to tell her that Wyatt wants to come in and check on her. Lucy offers what she hopes looks like a grateful smile, but her voice is thin and wobbly as she replies, "Tell him he should go and spend time with Jessica. Tell him I'm fine."

She thinks her smile must not be a very convincing one, because Agent Christopher gives her an odd look before acquiescing with a slight nod.

Later as she's drifting off to sleep, she feels herself kicking at the covers, relieved at the brush of the cool air across her overheated body. She twists and shifts, trying to find a comfortable position away from the throbbing in her arm, and she tries valiantly to grasp the wisps of lucidity that seem to dangle over her. She can hear the snippets of conversation - small whispers of concern. She hears "fever" and "infection" and "hospital?" with the questioning lilt at the end.

Then she hears _him_. His voice is different. Not just concerned. More frantic and frightened than the others.

She sinks deeper into a pool of thick, welcoming slumber, and those delicate strands of consciousness fade away. A large hand wraps around hers and squeezes, tethering her to her painful reality.

It just makes her mad.

* * *

Jessica likes Lucy from the get-go.

Everyone in the bunker has been nice enough, but she gets the sense that they are all a little bit perplexed by her presence. She knows she's like a ghost to some of them - back from the dead. And she's fairly certain she's like a different kind of ghost to the others: the phantom wife that's been said to exist but has never actually materialized. Lord knows _her_ Wyatt never made an effort to include her in anything work-related.

Connor Mason and Agent Christopher have been polite, if a little cool towards her, and Jiya and Rufus have endeavored to make her feel comfortable in the musty space. Wyatt has told her a fair amount about each member of the team, but her curiosity has lingered on the historian, for whom Wyatt seems to harbor a significant amount of respect and admiration. Lucy Preston, who's been feverishly battling a nasty infection since the night of Jessica's arrival.

" _So..who was the dark-haired one? The one with the injured arm? Lucy?" Jessica inquires. Everyone had retreated to their respective spaces following the arrival of the time machine back from...Salem? Or back from 17-something? Or both? She still can't wrap her mind around it._

" _Lucy," Wyatt responds simply._

 _Jessica rolls her eyes. "And?"_

" _She's our historian," Wyatt elaborates rather unwillingly. "A professor."_

" _A professor?" Jessica wrinkles her nose in confusion. "On a mission like this?"_

 _Wyatt bristles slightly and sighs. "Yeah. She's a walking encyclopedia. Brilliant. She knows just about everything there is to know about history." He pauses and his tone lowers a bit. "She's saved my ass more than a few times."_

 _Stepping forward after a tiny moment of hesitation, Jessica winds her arms around Wyatt's waist before resting her cheek against the soft cotton of his worn tee-shirt. "Well, then she's okay by me."_

 _She feels Wyatt release a burdened sigh, and he seems to soften beneath her touch._

 _All she can think is that maybe he really has changed this time. For good._

When Lucy finally reappears after twelve stitches and more than two days of delirious sleep, she wanders into the makeshift kitchen where Jess is in the middle of preparing a cup of tea. It's not really Jessica's thing, tea, but she's been jittery enough just from having her universe tilted beneath her feet, and she's fairly certain a cup of coffee isn't going to help her find her balance in this new reality. With this new Wyatt.

"Hey!" Jessica greets with a level of enthusiasm that sounds way too eager, even to her own ears. Wyatt is on another mission to someplace...some time? And Jiya is busily working with Connor and Agent Christopher, so after spending several hours wandering the rather limited halls of the bunker, Jess is just excited to have someone to talk to.

Lucy seems...less excited.

Winning over grumpy and forlorn customers is one of the keys to her success as a bartender - Jess can make friends with _anyone_. And for some reason, after sensing how highly-esteemed Lucy is in Wyatt's eyes, she feels especially compelled to win her approval...and her friendship. She doesn't miss the fact that Lucy spins on her heels at the sight of her, and she senses Lucy's reluctance to join her, so she tempts her with the offer of some tea, and smiles triumphantly as Lucy nods in agreement.

Wearing a pair of gray sweats, a white t-shirt, and a robe, Lucy approaches with a tired smile, and Jessica gets a good look at her for the first time. Although she looks very much like someone who's been battling a fever and an infection for the past two days, Jessica can also see the timelessness of her dark hair and porcelain complexion. There's a depth and an intelligence reflected in her dark eyes, and Jessica can't help but notice that Lucy's is the type of beauty that probably works in any time period. How very fortunate.

Lucy's smile is tight, and Jessica chalks it up to the pain she's feeling. But the pinched and uncomfortable demeanor fades away as they chat over their steaming mugs of tea.

Jessica's instincts about Lucy are only confirmed during their crazy JFK manhunt. She's lovely, sure, but she's also scary-smart and very generous. And Wyatt sees it. He sees all of it. He looks absolutely terrified to _lose_ all of it when that woman has that knifeblade biting into the skin of Lucy's neck. Jessica can see the terror and feel the tension vibrating off Wyatt's rigid form, and she recognizes the tenderness as he searches Lucy for any sign of injury or trauma.

It's been a _very_ long time since Wyatt looked at her the way he looks at Lucy.

Well, until _very_ recently. And even now his expression is more one of shock and awe than of love and adoration.

So as she stands there, outside of that hospital, ready to walk with at least a shard of her pride, she can't believe the picture this other woman (Is Lucy the other woman? Or is she?) paints of a lovesick, grief-stricken Wyatt. Wyatt? Fighting for her? Risking his life for her? Risking his _job_ for her?

It's what she's always wanted. To be someone's world.

And here's Lucy, promising that she, Jessica, has always been Wyatt's.

"You in?" Lucy wonders, her dark eyes large with...hope? Uncertainty? Fear? Resignation?

Yes, Jessica thinks. She likes Lucy Preston.

She nods.

* * *

Wyatt's head and heart are both snarled in a mess of uncertain knots by the time he arrives back at the bunker after his infiltration of the Rittenhouse headquarters.

He's a soldier. He always follows orders. He always takes the shot.

 _Always_.

So what the hell had happened when he'd come face to face with Carol Preston?

Hell, he hates her. Hates that she's Rittenhouse. Hates how she's devastated and betrayed Lucy. Even the occasionally shared childhood anecdotes paint Carol as a rather overbearing mother - someone who's made Lucy as uncertain and vulnerable as she is intelligent and strong. He should have been able to pull the trigger without a second thought about it.

But then there's Lucy.

He feels a sharp tug at his heart as he thinks of Lucy, and somewhere deep inside, he thinks he probably knows exactly what happened. He thinks Agent Christopher knows exactly what happened. And he doesn't want to let the amorphous feeling - the one he's been trying to extinguish - fully form, because he's got a wife waiting for him in the adjacent hallway, and the hazy emotions that clog his heart and cloud his mind are not going to be helpful in repairing his marriage.

He's wandering rather aimlessly through the bunker, feeling no rush to return to another evening of small-talk and awkward touches with Jess, when the Lifeboat returns from 1936. He tries to smother the involuntary surge of giddiness he feels at seeing Lucy, but his efforts are unnecessary once he sees the bright expression on her face, once he hears her laughter - _real_ laughter - as she steps carefully out of the Lifeboat. The sight of her looking so vibrant, so happy _without him_ is more than enough to squelch his excitement.

But it's the sight of her with Flynn - walking chummily, a smile on her face, like they're both reacting to the same silent joke - that skewers his heart. This is _their_ routine: the post-mission chuckles and innocent flirtations. What the hell?

"Lucy!" He calls out. He scolds himself inwardly when he hears how gruff his voice sounds as it rolls over her name.

The sight of Flynn's grand bowing motion, as though he's granting Wyatt permission to speak with her, makes him want to punch the asshole right in the face. But Lucy turns, obviously surprised at the sight of him in his tactical gear, and he feels a shudder in his heart as she approaches, her expression curious and tentative and _beautiful_. He wonders (not for the first time) how she could ever see herself as anything but.

He realizes suddenly that he's not sure what exactly he's expecting from the interaction. He has no actual announcement. Nothing actually planned. He just knows he wants to talk to her. He just wants to be near her.

Maybe he _needs_ to be near her, because the last time they spent this much time apart was when she was missing, which nearly killed him. And it's killing him now.

As ecstatic as he is to have Jessica back, to look at her and touch her and assure himself that she's real and that she's alive, he misses how easy it is just to be around Lucy. He misses the lighter stuff - the laughter and the board games and the banter. He misses the heavier stuff - the conversations about their lost loved ones, the debates on fate versus free will, and the reciprocal reassurances when they start to feel unbalanced as they navigate the ever-shifting sands of time. He misses the natural rhythm they've established in their interactions. There's an ebb and flow, a give-and-take, to everything they do, be it an on-the-spot creation of a mission cover story or simply sharing the popcorn during the millionth viewing of Weapon of Choice.

So the confidence he has in the connection he shares with Lucy splinters a bit when she delicately informs him that Flynn had been "great" on the mission.

That confidence is blown to shreds when she steadfastly refuses his request to share the details of her adventures with Flynn.

"Tomorrow," she tells him.

"Lucy, come on," he wheedles. "I want to know."

"Tomorrow. Go. Be with Jessica."

The gentle smile she offers doesn't soften the blow in the slightest, and he feels his heart sink deeper with each tap of her heels against the concrete floor.

When he arrives back at his room, he knocks quietly on the heavy steel door - he's not sure why - and he waits for Jessica to call out before he walks in. She's wearing his t-shirt and a pair of faded flannel pajama pants, and she's stretched out on her cot watching something on her tablet.

"Hey," she greets him with a smile. "How'd it go?"

He sinks tiredly to the cot opposite hers and shrugs. "Fine."

"Are you okay?" she probes, concern in her eyes.

"Fine," he repeats.

There's a slight furrow in her brow as she considers his response. Finally, she seems to accept it and move on. "Good," she remarks evenly before reaching under the cot to tug some earbuds from her duffle bag. The sound of whatever she's watching cuts instantly as she plugs in the cord and presses the earbuds into her ears.

Wyatt is disappointed when he realizes he's _not_ disappointed at the silence in the room.

It's just...easier this way.

So his mind drifts back to Lucy. And he thinks of how easy it is to talk with her, to laugh with her. Of how devastating it was for _her_ to cut him off and shut him out.

Somehow, in a mess of chivalry and duty and doing what's right, he has managed to fuck this up.

Monumentally.

* * *

Wyatt waits for the "tomorrow" that Lucy promised, waits to hear the tales of Robert Johnson, but he's disappointed when nearly four days pass without even a hint of their usual friendliness and familiarity.

He sees her around the bunker, of course. He sees her constantly. It is a _bunker_ after all, but there's something...off. She _seems_ like herself when she's chatting with Jiya or teasing Rufus. Hell, she acts normal with Flynn, exchanging playful barbs and deadpan remarks. She's even friendly with Jessica as they work together to make a messy dinner of spaghetti and garlic bread.

But there's a weight to her, a burden she's carrying, and he sees the subtle signs that she's on the brink of an emotional collapse.

She bows out of their regular game night by tossing out some flimsy excuse about hot water and an empty shower, and Wyatt can't take it anymore.

Waiting until the others are embroiled in a heated game of Monopoly, he parks himself outside the bathroom, and he waits until he hears the scrape of the chair on the other side of the door. He feels his heart jump at the sight of her looking and smelling so fresh and bright in the silky robe she wears, but then he sees the forlorn expression on her face - the one she usually hides as soon as she thinks anyone is looking. She gasps and jumps sharply at the unexpected sight of him and then glares. "Damn it, Wyatt! Do you really think I'm up for any more sneak attacks or surprises at this point in time?"

He shrugs dismissively. "We need to talk."

Her face softens for a split-second, but then her eyes narrow and she presses her lips together, forming a stern line. "I don't think we do."

"Lucy, I know you. You forget that I've seen you in these depths before. And we both know what it takes to get over the hump at times like this. Talk to me."

With a sigh, she steps around him and into the hallway, and then she leans back against the door frame. "No," she replies simply. Her tone is without malice or resentment.

"Lucy..."

"I don't think this is appropriate," she finally says softly.

Wyatt scowls. "What do you mean it's not appropriate? It's not appropriate for friends to be worried about one another? Lucy..." He reaches out to touch her arm, and she shrinks away from him. He's offended for a moment before he realizes that she's guarding her recently injured arm. He frowns and shakes his head in silent apology. The wound is healing well at this point in time, but there's going to be a rather sizable scar where the skin is still pink and puckered. His expression falls at the sight of the injury, at the knowledge that he's indirectly responsible for this physical scar as well as the countless emotional ones she's accumulated.

"Don't." Her voice is deep, firm, and she speaks through gritted teeth.

He opens his mouth to reply, a plea for forgiveness on his tongue, but she silences him with a hard shake of her head.

"I need you to stop, Wyatt," she says softly. She's avoiding his eyeline and fidgeting awkwardly. "Stop worrying about me. Stop hovering."

"We're still friends, Lucy. Teammates. I still care about you."

"I know that, Wyatt," she replies primly. "But would you be here," she gestures to their surroundings, "doing this with Rufus? Because last I checked he's your friend and teammate, too."

He scowls and shakes his head, "It's not the same and you know it."

"It _is_ the same. It needs to be the same. _I need_ for it to be the same." She takes a step closer and finally looks up at him, and he feels his stomach twist at the tears wobbling at the rims of her eyes. His hand twitches toward her, his instinct to catch the teardrops with the pads of his thumbs, but he stills the movement almost immediately.

"Why are you punishing me? You know I had to...you _told_ me I had to be with her."

She looks shocked and then flabbergasted and then mildly irritated. Finally, she looks tired.

"I'm not...I'm not _punishing_ you, Wyatt. Not anymore than you're punishing me by being with Jessica. But you told me one time that history is a series of choices. Well, those choices have consequences. You made yours. And this is the result. I can't be your confidante and your shoulder to cry on while your wife is waiting in the next room. It's not fair to her. Or to me for that matter. You chose to be with her. We can't be in a relationship when we _aren't in a relationship."_

"Lucy," he whispers painfully. The ache in his tone is so potent, she actually winces at the sound.

"I'm not mad, Wyatt," she says kindly. "Well, not anymore," she adds, a sad but genuine smile on her face. "You got the love of your life back. This is everything you've wanted since I've known you. What kind of person would I be if I held that against you?"

"Normal," he mumbles flatly.

"Well," she pauses, a split-second lilt of amusement in her voice, "normal has never been my strong suit. You know that better than just about anyone." She pauses then, as though she's weighing her words carefully. "And I don't. Hold it against you. How _can_ I? You made the right choice. But - you and I - we crossed over into something, and I can't just act like I'm not affected by all of this. I wish I could be that kind of person, but… but I need you to give me some space.

"Lucy, you're the best person I know. I meant what I said in 41. You saved my life."

Her eyes well up once again, and she smiles at him, a messy and watery smile, before she nods. "And I'm so glad that I could do that for her. She deserves to know this version of you. But I can't do this. You brought her here, into _my_ space. Into _our_ space. And I understand that you felt you needed to do that for you. I do. But I…" she ducks her head and studiously avoids his gaze. "...I can't do this. Except that I have to. I don't have any other choice. I don't have anywhere else to go. And I'll be okay. I will." She pauses for a moment, and her tone softens slightly. "Every time I think things can't get any worse..." She trails off and shakes her head in a self-deprecating manner. "You made your choice, Wyatt. I don't begrudge you that. I want you to be happy, and I'm trying so hard to do what's right in this impossible situation, but…" She looks up again, a pleading gleam in her dark eyes. "I need you to let me be."

He opens his mouth to respond - with what, he's not sure - but she gives a silent, barely perceptible shake of her head to stop him. With a solemn look on her face, a hardened edge in her tone, she continues with a forced air of nonchalance. "Look at what I've already survived. If I haven't died of a broken heart yet, maybe there's nothing left to break." She shrugs carelessly then and lets out a small laugh that sounds tinny and sharp to his ears.

There's a steel in her voice that disturbs him. It's not just the strand of steely strength that he's come to expect of her. It's impenetrable. Unbreakable. It's a wall. And he's on the wrong side of it.

* * *

It only takes three and a half weeks for him to acknowledge the fact that this latest version of Wyatt and Jessica is nothing more than a sub-par spin-off of the original. And it takes Jessica, in all of her honest, no-bullshit glory, to remind him that "Wyatt and Jessica: The Original Story" had been more of a Lifetime drama than Austenesque romance...even before the divergence of their respective timelines.

By the time he decides to sit down and have the conversation with her (and really - kicking your wife _out_ of a secret bunker after dragging her down there in the first place?) she's already got her bags packed. She seems to be as relieved as he feels, and the end is a quick one - surprisingly uneventful for such a seemingly dramatic and star-crossed pair. Everyone in the bunker has witnessed his extreme grief and hotheadedness as far as Jess is concerned, and he's almost embarrassed by how easy it is to for him say good-bye to her, to their marriage. He thinks rather wryly to himself that he must have seemed like some lovesick teenager - moping over his high school sweetheart only to wind up one half of a messy breakup just weeks later. But then, he realizes, it's not that far from the truth, and maybe the breakup is really what he's been waiting for all these years: the end. The End.

"You're an idiot, you know," Jessica remarks as he lifts her bag to walk her out to meet up with Agent Christopher.

"Okay...I thought we were handling this pretty well, but…" Wyatt replies, baffled by her bizarre proclamation.

"You love Lucy, Wyatt. And she loves you. And _I_ love you for becoming the kind of man that loved me enough to try and see our marriage through, but the keyword there is _loved._ You _loved_ me. But you _love_ Lucy, and you're an idiot if you let her go."

Wyatt smiles softly at her and opens his arms.

With a small smile of her own, she walks into his embrace. "You're a good man, Wyatt Logan. And she's a good woman. You're a _great_ team. I knew it the moment she pressed that paperclip into your palm. I still don't know how the hell you both pulled that off, by the way."

"Tricks of the trade," Wyatt shrugs with a cocky smirk.

She grins at him, and for a second he sees the vivacious girl he originally fell for. She cocks her head, looking at him thoughtfully and remarks, "For what it's worth, Lucy is kind of awesome. I totally get it." She elbows him playfully. "You could dump me for worse."

He grins back at her and then opens the heavy door, ushering her out into the hallway.

Lucy is sitting in the kitchen when Jessica leaves, and he can't help but be surprised when she quickly rises to hug Jessica good-bye. There are whispers back and forth, and then tearful smiles before the final good-byes and well-wishes are exchanged.

When he finally releases Jessica into Agent Christopher's protective custody, he feels free in a way that he hasn't felt for years. Jessica is safe. She's alive, and she's free to pursue whatever it is that will fulfill her. She gets to live her life wherever and with whomever she chooses.

And so does he.

* * *

Jessica's departure is almost more terrifying than her arrival.

Just a few weeks ago, Lucy would have been secretly (if shamefully) thrilled by this development. Her wounds at that point were still fresh, easily treated and patched. Now? Those same wounds have been festering. Even with the most delicate handling, there's going to be some scarring.

A few weeks ago, things were painful, but the lines were crisp and clear. Now they're...messy. She doesn't know what this means or where she stands. Sure, his wife is gone. But does that mean anything for them? Is he expecting her to make a move? Does she _want_ to make a move? Or has her heart changed?

A cursory assessment of the butterflies she feels at the thought of him provides her with a certain answer to the last question. By what of the others? It's one thing to navigate a relationship with a longtime widower, but navigating a relationship with a longtime widower turned new divorcé? That path is a bit more treacherous.

So she plays it safe.

She keeps her distance. She plays checkers with Jiya and watches movies with Rufus. She drinks with Flynn and listens to music with Connor and strategizes with Agent Christopher.

She avoids Wyatt.

She protects herself, because up until recently she believed that the only person she could trust as much as she could trust herself, was him. She wants to believe that's still the case.

She's just not quite sure.

* * *

It's been more than three weeks since Jessica's departure, and Lucy is ignoring him.

Not in a blatant, cold-shoulder sort of way, of course. She's better than that. More gracious.

It's worse.

He can't exactly blame her. He realizes that he's been a Class-A fuck-up, but he's not sure he knows how he could have navigated this situation without earning such a title.

She won't _admit_ it. She still smiles at him when she passes him in the hallway. She still pours him a cup of coffee when they both happen to be sitting at the kitchen table. She still offers him the remote when he sits next to her to watch TV.

But her smile is more restrained than the one he's come to love. And she asks how he wants his coffee even though he knows she knows. She offers the remote, but she never stays more than ten minutes after his arrival. It's like she's working to maintain a certain amount of distance.

And then there's the fact that she's always with Flynn. Sometimes Rufus and Jiya. Sometimes Connor or Agent Christopher. But mostly Flynn.

If this is even a fraction of the pain she felt at seeing him with Jessica, he doesn't know how she can still look at him. It guts him every time he sees them together because he sees that she laughs with him and smiles at him and teases him, and it makes Wyatt start to wonder if maybe...just maybe...what they had wasn't as special as he thinks.

And Flynn. Well, Flynn is an asshole. But he's different around Lucy. Kinder. More thoughtful. But it's all moot, because Wyatt will never be able to shake the image of Flynn using Lucy as a human shield in front of the fiery remains of the Hindenburg. He'll never forget Flynn kidnapping her and taking her to the World's Fair. Or holding a detonator while Lucy was standing right in the middle of the explosives. How do you just _forgive_ someone who does those kinds of things?

Then again, how do you forgive a man who leaves you mid-flirtation to retrieve his undead wife?

Still, Wyatt can't ignore the way his muscles tense involuntarily at the sight of Flynn standing at the kitchen counter with Lucy. She's stirring cream into her coffee while he rinses a glass in the sink, and they're chatting amiably about something. Wyatt stands silently, watching, lost in his thoughts. When Flynn finally leaves the room, Lucy gives him an odd look.

After a beat, she rolls her eyes and shrugs. "What?!"

Wyatt shakes his head. "Nothing. Not my place."

Lucy is confused and then realization lights her face. "Flynn?" She chuckles. "Yep. You're right. Not your place."

"So you two are…" he pressed uncomfortably.

Lucy waits for him to finish and then does it for him. "The two former third wheels of the bunker? Commiserating? Kind-of-sort-of-cautiously friends? Yep. You've got it. You had Jessica. Rufus has Jiya. My options for companionship have been fairly limited."

She gives him a small smile before turning and heading to her room, leaving Wyatt standing on his own.

Flynn is lurking just down the hall when Wyatt finally leaves the kitchen, and he curses when the taller man steps out of shadows.

"It bothers you, doesn't it?"

"What the hell do you want, Flynn?"

"Don't worry, Wyatt. She only has eyes for you, even if she won't admit it. And I would know." He leans in and whispers, "Vodka makes Lucy honest."

Wyatt can feel his own fingernails biting into the skin of his palms as his fists clench angrily. "Fuck you, Flynn."

"Do you know what she loves about you? I mean, I certainly don't get the appeal, but do you know what it is? She loves that you were her partner. She loves that you were her best friend, that you were someone she could confide in after she lost her sister. She loves that she always felt safe with you. On and off missions. She said…oh, what was it? She said...or wrote, I guess, if I'm going to be precise...that being with you felt like being whole for the first time."

Wyatt swallows nervously uncertain of what to think. "What are you talking about? Lucy doesn't...we barely…"

Flynn cuts him off with a skeptical frown. "You realize I had her journal. I'm not a... _feelings_ man, Wyatt. I'm simply sharing information that I thought you might find interesting. She loves you."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Flynn stares at him for a long moment.

"For Lucy. Because she deserves to have at least _one_ of the people she's lost back in her life. I don't know how to give her Amy. So I guess you'll have to do."

* * *

Rufus is practically useless.

"She loves me?"

"Um, _duh."_ Rufus responds slowly. "I'm sorry. Are you saying it took _Flynn_ telling you that Lucy loves you for you to realize the _most obvious_ thing in the history of time?! And I would know! I've been to _a lot_ of times, my friend. You and Lucy? _The_ most obvious thing ever." Rufus pauses. "Wait! You realize that _you_ love _her_ , right?"

Wyatt narrows his eyes scathingly at Rufus before responding, "Of course I do."

"Hey!" Rufus raises his arms in mock surrender. "The question was a valid one as far as I can tell."

Frustrated, Wyatt rubs a hand tiredly over his face. "Come on, Rufus. I'm asking you to help me, man. What do I do? Has she said anything? She barely looks me."

"Seriously? You broke her heart, Wyatt. Like _really_ broke her heart." Rufus explains unhelpfully. "What do you expect?" He shrugs. "I'm kind of surprised she acknowledges you at all. You're going to have to grovel. Probably for a really long time. Probably in some really sketchy years and locations."

After watching the verbal volleys exchanged between Wyatt and Rufus, Jiya chimes in, and she's a bit more tactful in her approach.

"You have to put yourself in her shoes. Before you two... _happened_...she had literally everything else taken from her. Like...I can't believe the universe...well, Rittenhouse, I guess...could possibly cause so much destruction in one person's life. But even after all of that, there you were. You were her constant. You were the one thing she had left -"

"Hey!" Rufus exclaims. "She had me! She's my frie-"

He shuts up as soon as Jiya pins him with a disapproving glare. "Yeah, because you were a real shoulder for her to cry on, Mr. Put-A-Towel-Under-The-Door." She raises her eyebrows, not even attempting to disguise her judgment, and shrugs."Yeah, Lucy told me about that. Morons."

"It was a joke!" Wyatt and Rufus exclaim in unison.

"Yeah," Jiya scoffs. "A really _bad_ one. Anyway," she continues, "There you are, the last person she feels she can count on, and you're promising her you're there for her. So she lets herself be vulnerable with you. And then...poof! You're taken away just as quickly and cruelly as everything else in her life. And then she has to watch you and work with you and…well, that _joke_ didn't really help." Jiya gestures at Rufus. "While he's not exactly Mr. Sensitivity in his delivery, Rufus is right. You're dealing with a major broken heart."

" _Major,_ " Rufus chimes in.

"And while it's not your _fault,_ " Jiya continues gently.

"Eh...it's a little bit your fault," Rufus interrupts, raising a hand with his forefinger and thumb held about an inch apart. "Bringing Jess here? Probably not the best move. Like...what's the military term for an unbelievably stupid move?"

Wyatt rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Jiya. "Does he come with a mute button?"

"I'm working on it," Jiya smiles. "And so should you."

"I should what?" Wyatt asks.

"Work on it. Be there," Jiya answers simply. "For the long haul. And be prepared to work for it. You're going to have to earn her."

"But it's _Lucy_ , man." Rufus adds sincerely. "So you know she's worth it."

Wyatt pauses for a moment, pondering the situation and the advice, and then he smiles thoughtfully. "There's never been any doubt about that. Not even for a second."

* * *

Their progress is slow.

It's frustrating at times, but then there are tiny victories that keep him moving forward.

He makes sure he beats her to the kitchen to make her a cup of tea or to pour her a cup of coffee when she wakes up. He makes a bowl of popcorn each time he sees her watching one of her favorite classic movies on TV. He engages her in conversation whenever he has the opportunity, and he makes a point of sharing with her at least as much as she shares with him. He tells her about the time his dad broke his arm by pushing him out of a moving car, and he describes his first taste of cotton candy at an elementary school carnival he attended with his Grandpa Sherwin. He asks her questions about Amy and her father and her short-lived singing career. She tells him about her childhood obsession with strawberry milkshakes, and the very next day he knocks on her door with a frothy pink concoction poured sloppily into a glass.

About five weeks after Jessica's departure, they're clamoring into the Lifeboat on their way to 1922 when he realizes that Lucy, absolutely stunning in a gauzy red dress, is looking at him expectantly, the straps of her seat belt dangling from her fingertips. He's slow to respond, uncertain of what she really wants, and then he finally reaches over to adjust and secure the straps of her seat belts. She takes his hand when they finally arrive, and she allows him to guide her carefully from the hatch of the Lifeboat down to the sodden ground.

"Thank you," she murmurs quietly, pressing her dark red lips together.

"No problem," he replies. And then, "Ma'am."

Her small smile sends his heart soaring, and he ignores the fact that he can see Flynn rolling his eyes in the periphery. Or maybe he relishes it. Just a little bit.

When they return from 1922, exhausted but relatively unscathed, they're strolling down the dark hallway, all soft smiles and murmured jokes, tired but _energized_ by their trip, when he's struck by a thought. He stops suddenly and grins to himself.

She halts just a step ahead of him and turns, her brow furrowed. "What?"

He shakes his head, but his grin remains. "Just remembering something. Hey...how about a post-mission drink?" He adds, "It's been awhile."

She tilts her head and eyes him curiously, and then meets his grin with a coy smile of her own. "Okay."

So he sips a microbrew while she drinks red wine from a cheap bunker mug, and she f _inally_ tells him all about the Robert Johnson mission, and she's finally looking at him the way she used to, and he _finally_ thinks that maybe - just maybe - things are going to be alright.

They sit at one of the scarred Formica tables the next morning and sip coffee and just...talk. She makes him the worst, most rubbery fried egg he's ever tasted, and then she sits across from him, watching him over the rim of her mug as she sips her coffee. He relishes every last morsel. He relishes every last moment.

Two nights later, they're with Rufus and Jiya playing a drinking-game version of Monopoly that Rufus seems to be inventing on the spot. The gist? Take a drink for pretty much everything a person does during Monopoly. Roll a five? It's FIVE o'clock somewhere! Buy a property? Cheers! Pass Go? Collect your beverage.

It doesn't take long for each one of them to be pleasantly buzzed, and it doesn't take much longer for Lucy to pass out on the couch - partly due to the alcohol but mostly due to exhaustion. Rufus and Jiya are laughing hysterically at some Star Wars joke that Wyatt most definitely does _not_ get, and when he turns to Lucy, seeking a safe haven from their overwhelming nerdiness, his breath catches at the sight of her sleeping soundly with her head pressed against the hard arm of the couch, her neck kinked uncomfortably.

"Ooohhhh," Jiya coos loudly...and maybe a bit drunkenly. "She's sleeping already? She's so cute."

"I'll take her to her room," Wyatt offers softly. "You guys can take our room. I'll just crash out here tonight."

Lifting her gently, he folds her carefully against his chest and lets his nose rest in the dark waves of her hair. She shifts to rest more comfortably against his chest as he walks, and he sets her gently between the sheets on her cot before tugging the scratchy wool blanket over her slender frame. He's about to turn and leave her in the quiet when she catches his wrist in her hand and murmurs sleepily, "Just stay in here."

Her eyes are open now. They're a little bleary, but they're open and blinking sweetly.

"You sure?"

"I offered, didn't I?"

He nods gruffly, hoping she can't see the fireworks of joy that are exploding in his heart and mind, and he lowers himself to the other cot, glad that he's already in a pair of flannel pajama pants. He's pondering whether it's crossing a line for him to remove his t-shirt, because he sleeps hot, but he'll gladly sweat to death before he makes Lucy even a little bit uncomfortable.

"Do you know how much you hurt me?"

He jerks sharply in response. He's startled by her voice. He's even more startled by her question.

Glancing up, he stares at her curiously. She's sitting up now, her head tilted slightly beneath the wild halo of her hair, and she's watching him with an earnestness he's never seen before.

"I'm not sure," he replies honestly. "But I know I hurt me. So I can only imagine what it did to you."

"A lot," she supplies helpfully. "You hurt me a lot."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. And then again, more fervently. " _I'm so sorry."_ His voice drops as he attempts to convey his sincerity through his tone. "Hurting you was the last thing I ever wanted. I don't ever want to do anything to cause you pain, Lucy. You were collateral damage in the mess of my life, and I don't know that I'll ever be able to convey how truly sorry I am for that."

She nods slowly and bites her lip, and then she quickly reassures him. "I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, Wyatt."

"But I do," he replies quickly, his voice low.

"You've been so honest with me lately, so open. Don't think I haven't noticed," she assures him. "And this is the biggest - really the only - secret I've kept from you. I mean, I'm sure I didn't exactly hide it very well. But I tried _really_ hard to be fine. To make you think I was just fine with things. But I trusted you," she continues. "I never would have had sex with you if I didn't completely trust you. If I didn't…" she trails off. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know...you really hurt me, Wyatt."

He nods in understanding, but he hasn't missed her unfinished sentence. Even in her buzzed state, she has some sense of self-preservation.

So he takes the bullet. He stands and crosses the room to sit next to her on the edge of her cot. Once again, he grabs the band-aid and yanks. He just says it.

"I love you, Lucy. I did in 1941, and I do now. Hell, I think I've loved you all the way across each of the past three centuries, and everyone in the world seems to know it."

She stares at him. The odd night light of the bunker casts a silvery sheen over her features, but her eyes are glittering, and she's staring deeply, thoughtfully. Finally, she says nothing, instead just lying back against the mattress. He's about to stand and cross back over to his side of the room when she catches his wrist once more and tugs him down next to her.

"Lucy…" he starts uncertainly.

"Please, Wyatt. Just stay _here_ with me."

He thinks for a moment before nodding silently and then he scoots onto the cot so that he's lying behind her. It's not until she reaches back for his arm that he realizes she wants him to hold her, and it's not until this moment that he realizes how much he _needs_ to hold her.

"Wyatt?" she says softly.

"Hmmm?" he mumbles in response.

"Don't hurt me again." Her tone is both pleading and warning at the same time.

"I'd rather die," he declares honestly.

"Wyatt?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

The small room is silent for a beat. And then another.

He breathes. He pulls her closer.

She breathes.

And then, "Good night, Babydoll."

He swears he can _hear_ her smile.

"Night, Sweetheart."

* * *

They decide to make breakfast together the next morning, with Lucy measuring coffee beans and water while Wyatt watches a pat of butter as it sizzles across the frying pan. Their movements and motions are almost perfectly synchronized as they step and spin and shimmy their way through the preparations in the relatively small space. They're touching each other at every possible opportunity, and Wyatt feels like he's had some sort of invisible restraints cut away. He's free to press a hand to the small of her back or to rub soothingly at the base of her neck. She scrapes her fingertips affectionately against his stubble and lets her hand trail down his arm, all the way to his fingertips. They're each giddy at the nearness of the other, and everything is so _easy_. Within twenty minutes, there's a pot of fresh coffee, a pile of scrambled (fluffy, not rubbery) eggs, and a plate of buttered toast. They're waiting patiently for the last slices of toast to pop free of the toaster when Lucy lets out a tired sigh.

Wyatt glances over in concern. "You good?"

She looks up at him, smiling, "More than you know."

As she leans into him, he loops an arm around her waist to pull her close, and he presses a kiss into her hair.

An unexpected voice breaks the moment right in half.

"So this is _finally_ happening, right? Like, for real?"

They both spin around at the sudden interruption just in time to see Jiya smack Rufus on the arm. Rufus, Jiya, and Flynn are all standing near one of the kitchen tables, smug expressions on each of their faces.

Rufus gives Jiya a wounded look before turning his attention back to Lucy and Wyatt. "Okay, but...it _is_ happening, right?"

Lucy winds her arms around Wyatt's middle and nods. "It's happening."

"Thank God!" Rufus and Jiya both crow in triumph.

Flynn's reaction is harder to decipher, but Wyatt is fairly certain he hears him growl, "It's about damned time. Do I have to do _everything_ around here?"

"Well, come on, you guys!" Lucy announces excitedly. "Let's have some breakfast."

Rufus is seated with a fork in hand before she's even finished her sentence. "Uh...Wyatt made the eggs, right?"

The group laughs knowingly as Lucy rolls her eyes, and Wyatt can't help but drop another kiss to the top of her head. He keeps an arm draped around the back of her chair as the group enjoys the fruits of their culinary labor.

It's pretty far from perfect. After all, Rittenhouse is still out there, they're essentially trapped in an underground bunker, and alarms could blare at any moment to warn them that the Mothership has jumped. And yet, he's at peace. And as he glances over at Lucy, he can see from the shine in her eyes and the wide smile on her face, that she is too.

He shouldn't be surprised that she's forgiven him. He knows - better than anyone - that Lucy Preston is one of the kindest and most selfless people in the world.

And he loves her for it.


End file.
